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At no point in its long and prestigious record had the public transport vehicle from Windsor to Staines been given such a reception. Accompanied by police, shadowed by international media, the brightly colored single-decker trundled regally up Windsor’s central avenue, while onlookers stretched to catch a glimpse of the lone senior inside. “It’s not him,” remarked one man, rather unnecessarily.

An Event of Much Ado About Hardly Anything

This was such an occasion on the shores of the Thames: plenty of enthusiasm over not much, a sideshow that felt mainly secondary to the pageantry taking place within the sealed castle grounds. “Regrettably not much is going to occur, madam,” told a police officer a woman filming a online video from the curb, as he shooed her further back toward the pavement.

Small Occurrences and Lots of Anticipating

Certainly, some occurrences actually occur, albeit very little of major importance in the grand scheme. Supporters called out things at each other. People argued over Gaza. People waved flags and held up placards. A man in a campaign merchandise consumed a pub treat from the local eatery and made a face. Television runners rushed up and down Castle Hill bringing beverages to TV personalities. Light rain fell.

The scene turned into a crowded space observing other people watch things, at once comforted by their nearness to the central happening and disappointed by their failure to affect it.

Marine Units and Unforeseen Wildlife

“We are ready for whatever may occur that will unfold on or around the water,” declared Sgt Lyn Smith, leader of a collaborative marine unit representing Thames Valley and Hampshire police. While the official guests approached Windsor, almost the only thing occurring near the water was a swan taking a dump.

An Event Planned for Minimal Contact with People

Certainly, this spectacle without substance was in part baked into the arrangement, the expected outcome of a state visit whose guiding principle was to steer clear of any possible contact with actual people. While Trump and King Charles observed the guard, the crowd outside was left totally to its own devices. Little tip: if you tell a Maga supporter that his large flag only has 49 stars on it, he’ll still be counting them half an hour later.

Broadcast Reporting and the Quest for Material

Nonetheless, the crowd had assembled and the media was recording, so how was each outlet going to use up their programs? A leading broadcaster appeared to spend a large portion of time showing aerial shots of the castle. “Our top story today, ancient fortress remains upright.”

“You can see some precipitation on the camera there, and rain clearly has an influence on flying,” a talking head rambled on a television network in an attempt to explain why Trump’s helicopter was yet to taken off. Evidently some alternative entertainment was necessary.

The Devotees Come Center Stage

Step forward: the dedicated supporters. And they are rarely in low numbers at events like these, pulled like moths to a press area, readily filling long stretches of empty broadcast slots with their antics. There was a guy dressed from head to toe in UK and US flags. There was a woman with a restrained alsatian wrapped in a campaign apparel. There was a guy who had spent two days painting a picture of Trump as a early human, carrying King Charles on his back like a baby. There were people outside the Barbour store having blazing rows about the definition of genocide. All encountered a eager listeners among the itinerant correspondents desperate for copy, any copy, any kind of colour.

It becomes clear how readily what passes for public sentiment in this country is shaped by the most audible – and by extension the craziest – people.

A Magnet for Nonconformists

Maybe it is inevitable that any spectacle will attract a few characters. But this does also seem to be a quality very specific to Trump: the consistent ability to attract misfits and nonconformists wherever he goes. Frankly speaking: Trump himself is just a very weird guy, the kind of individual you imagine would come from an unfortunate nuclear accident involving a large block of orange cheese. And in a sense his entire time in office has been a kind of call to the unsatisfied, the credulous, the interested in plots, the less than conscious. Misfits of the world, unite. We gather at Windsor at daybreak. Don whatever you like.

Local Reality Makes Itself Known

Monarchs. Police. Journalists. The Hampshire and Berkshire branches of the Trump supporters’ group. Was there anyone here even slightly ordinary? “Not in Windsor,” remarked the girl behind the bar of the Horse and Groom. “They’re all too busy yelling at each other.” And maybe there is something about this place that elicits the dress-up in everyone, a royal seat with a town grudgingly attached, a kind of façade England with its waves of decorations and novelty shops, a reverie to sell the tourists. What sort of actuality were we really hoping to encounter here?

Reality does still intervene, if you search carefully. A little distance from the chaotic mass, a couple of local civic-minded councillors were handing out leaflets. Upgrade our parks and playgrounds. Renew broken streetlights. Deal with “grot spots”, whatever they are. This is the politics that genuinely affects people’s lives, far closer at any rate than some American president sitting in a royal transport that nobody can see. But they’re having a difficult period getting the information across. “We’re about supporting people, addressing things, serving communities,” says Mark Wilson of the Eton and Castle ward. “But that’s not what draws attention.”

The End of the Event

Inside the grounds, men in funny hats were playing wind devices. The dining arrangement in St George’s Hall was being set. Outside, the crowds were breaking up. The No 10 bus was well on its way to Staines. The woman in the political hat had gone into Wagamama to grab some teppanyaki. And it was difficult not to sense the chasm between these spheres, far more profound than a castle wall, worlds briefly adjacent but perpetually divided.